


Sleeping Dogs

by SeventhStrife



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, More characters to come, can't catch a break, poor Aoba
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhStrife/pseuds/SeventhStrife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s going to break up with me,” Koujaku said morosely, drawing invisible patterns on the countertop. Behind the bar, Mizuki polished a glass serenely.</p><p>“Probably,” he agreed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doubting Thomas

“He’s going to break up with me,” Koujaku said morosely, drawing invisible patterns on the countertop. Behind the bar, Mizuki polished a glass serenely.

“Probably,” he agreed.

Koujaku glared, eyes only slightly glassy from the drink.

“You’re supposed to make me feel better, asshole.”

Mizuki smirked. “And have you both come to me every time you have _relationship problems?”_ He shuddered. “No thank you.”

“Who _else_ am I supposed to talk to?” Koujaku grumbled. He pushed his glass forwards a bit with his fingertips and Mizuki graciously refilled it.

“Anyone other than me?”

Koujaku shot him another glare and Mizuki sighed, probably wishing that the bar wasn’t closed so he could excuse himself. He grabbed a stool and moved it in front of Koujaku. He sat down and braced his elbows on the counter, looking at Koujaku with exaggerated patience.

“All right, special one-time counseling service, only for friends. Let’s hear it.”

Koujaku thought about thanking him sarcastically, but didn’t want to risk Mizuki leaving. Instead he swirled his drink, watching the amber liquid contemplatively while he got his thoughts in order.

“He been acting strange,” Koujaku said slowly. “I mean, he doesn’t act too differently, I guess, but I haven’t seen him much lately. He’s always busy working late or visiting friends.” The only friends Aoba had that were outside of his and Koujaku’s circle were those weirdos he’d met nearly a year ago, the gas mask guy and that shitty brat. The thought of Aoba hanging out with such shady company made him frown.

“That’s not so bad,” Mizuki said.

“He’s been sleeping over at Tae-san’s a lot lately, too,” Koujaku said glumly. He hadn’t realized how lonely sleeping alone was until Aoba’s warmth was disturbingly absent from his bed.

Mizuki raised a brow, and for the first time looked genuinely concerned. Oddly enough, it made Koujaku feel a little better, like his doubts were validated.

“Hm,” Mizuki mused, drumming the fingers of one hand on the bar. “Did he say why?”

“He was worried she felt lonely.”

“Well, there you go,” Mizuki said, as if that was that. “You know how Aoba is about family.”

“Yeah…”

Sensing Koujaku’s doubt, Mizuki continued.

“Has he stopped saying ‘I love you’? Seemed disgusted by your touch?”

“No.” Even the brief snatches of time he’d managed to snag with Aoba had always ended with a fond goodbye. Mizuki rolled his eyes and stood.

“Then stop worrying so much.” He walked around the counter and to the door, unlocking it and holding it wide open. “Now get your mopey-ass out of my bar and go kiss your boyfriend or something, because you’re making me sick.”

Koujaku grinned and rose as instructed.

“All right, all right,” he said as he made his way over, raising his hand in supplicance. “I’m leaving.”

“Thank God,” Mizuki said, but he was smiling when Koujaku reached him.

Koujaku clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem. I’m adding the drinks and therapy to you tab, though.”

“I thought listening to people’s problems was part of being a bartender.”

“Listening to _strangers_ problems,” Mizuki corrected him. “As in people I will never have to see again. Listening to people I _know_ complain?” Mizuki shook his head, red hair catching the neon lights that illuminated the door. “Now that’s too much. I have to face you again, and knowing about all your girly issues with your boyfriend is goddamn _embarrassing.”_ Mizuki looked away pointedly. “I don’t think I can stand to be seen with you. _Out,”_ he ordered crisply, pointing. “Before my bar gets a bad reputation.”

Koujaku shoved Mizuki on the shoulder as he stepped out into the night, grinning.

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

Grinning, they grasped hands and clapped each other’s back, and then Koujaku was gone, walking back home beneath the ever-lit streets of the Old Resident District.

With the pleasant buzz of alcohol thrumming through his veins and Mizuki’s encouraging words, Koujaku felt lighter than he had since this whole thing had started. Perhaps he was simply reading too much into Aoba’s suddenly-busy social life. There had been plenty of times when business with Beni-Shigure kept Koujaku away, not to mention the ever-in-demand hairdressing he always had to make time for. Maybe this was just Koujaku finally seeing what it was like from the other side.

Koujaku stopped when he reached Main Street. Usually, on nights like this, he would go south and meet up with his fellow Beni-Shigure members, to drink, to hang out, and occasionally beat up punk ass ribsters and rhymers who got too big for their boots.

But no matter how much better he might feel about the cause, Aoba’s absence still left him lonely. A week may not seem like a long time to some, but for Koujaku it was a week without Aoba’s smile, a week without his beautiful hazel eyes and the way he mumbled in his sleep. A week without the sound of his laughter and how furiously he’d blush when Koujaku kissed him in public. An agonizingly long, cold week without the feel of his arms around him, his silky hair against his chest as he slept.

Mind made up, Koujaku headed east. He wanted to see his boyfriend, dammit.

After years of walking the same path, the walk to Aoba’s house was calming in its routine. Ever since he was a kid, he knew he could go to Aoba’s home and be welcomed, stuffed with good home-cooked meals and the irreplaceable warmth of family.

It was late, which meant Tae-san was asleep, but he had a spare key in case of emergencies and he used it when he got there.

The lights were all off but Koujaku could smell remnants of whatever delicious meal Tae-san had made. He wasn’t even hungry but the thought of her food made Koujaku cast a mournful glance at the kitchen as he made his way up the stairs to Aoba’s room.

He stepped lightly, wary of even the slightest creak that would bring Tae-san’s wrath upon him. Koujaku feared little, but he feared her.

When he reached Aoba’s room, Koujaku tapped very lightly on the door as a courtesy before letting himself in. He made to slide the door shut behind him, but something seemed... _off_ and he stilled, eyes roaming over each surface.

At first, everything seemed normal. But Aoba’s bed was neatly made, and he was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated, Koujaku dropped his arm from the door, frowning. He glanced out the door to the balcony but came up empty. If Aoba wasn’t here, did that mean he was with one of his friends?

The thought shouldn’t have been so disheartening, but it was; didn’t Aoba miss him at all?

Koujaku looked around again, still unable to push down the feeling that something was amiss. He stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed.

If he had to pick out something that bothered him, it would have to be how clean the room was. Aoba wasn’t necessarily a messy person; he cleaned at Koujaku’s and their kitchen was always spotless, but usually in the bedroom he felt more comfortable about leaving some clothes tossed on the floor, or a bit of clutter. It was usually Koujaku who did things like make the bed or clear off the dresser.

But Aoba’s room was immaculate, bed dressed neatly and blankets tucked just so, floor and surfaces clear, even a few boxes tucked out of the way in the corner, remnants from his younger days.

All in all, it looked not unlike when Aoba finally made the move to Koujaku’s apartment.

A trickle of unease slid down Koujaku’s spine and he passed a hand over Aoba’s small coffee table, his hand coming away covered in dust. Suspicious, Koujaku made his way out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. He flicked on the light, wincing at the brightness, and saw that it was absent of Aoba’s toothbrush.

Koujaku turned off the light and quietly closed the door. Then, he simply stood and thought.

Aoba had lied to him. He clearly wasn’t staying here, when there wasn’t a trace of him to be found.

But if he wasn’t here, then where was he? Was he staying with one of his friends? And why wouldn’t he tell Koujaku? Why keep it a secret?

Had he...met someone else?

The very thought made Koujaku’s heart squeezed painfully and he clenched his hands into fists. He walked down the stairs and out of Tae-san’s home, taking care to lock it behind him.

Having even the slightest doubt made Koujaku feel absurdly guilty, but he couldn’t deny that now that he knew Aoba was lying to him, spending his nights who-knew-where, they were somewhat valid. It was the only thing he could think of to explain why Aoba was suddenly acting so suspiciously, gone all the time with excuses threadbare at best.

He needed to confront Aoba, demand he tell the truth, but the thought of hearing Aoba admit he was right, imagining Aoba looking him in the eyes and telling him he didn’t love him anymore—

Koujaku stopped walking, shaking from the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. His tattoo felt like a brand on his back and he walked to the nearest building, falling against it and rubbing weary hands over his face. He took deep breaths until his distress faded to a quiet grief.

He was jumping the gun, he told himself; assuming the worst possible scenario. Aoba was a good person, and more than that, he trusted him. If anyone deserved the benefit of the doubt, it was Aoba.

_‘Still,’_ he couldn’t help but think as he made his way back home, _‘It better be one hell of a reason.’_

Mind a jumbled mess of conflicted feelings, Koujaku just barely caught the sound of running water when he walked into his apartment.

_Aoba._ Surprised, Koujaku hesitated before shutting the door behind him. It seemed he and Aoba would be having that talk sooner than he thought.

Slipping off his shoes, Koujaku first went to the living room and slid Beni out from beneath the folds of his yukata and placed him on his usual perch on Ren’s pillow, still asleep. Then he approached the bathroom and knocked.

Something crashed to the floor. Maybe the shampoo bottle. “Koujaku?” Aoba called, surprise evident in his tone. Koujaku frowned. Who else would it be?

“Were you expecting someone else?” Koujaku joked half-heartedly.

“No, no, give me a minute,” Aoba called back, and a few seconds later the water shut off. Koujaku gave him his space and went to sit on the couch. He sank into the cushions and rested his head on the back, for the first time realizing how tired he was from walking all over the district.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him open his eyes, but before he could ask him to take a seat, he saw that Aoba, standing just a bit to the side of him _(too far),_ had his jacket on and his duffel bag over his shoulder. The sight made alarm bells thunder in his mind but he forced his face into a sort of worried curiosity instead of the panic he was feeling.

“Going out?” He was mildly impressed his voice came out sounding so normal.

Aoba rubbed the back of his neck with his gloved hand, avoiding Koujaku’s eyes. “Er, yeah. I needed to change and pick up some things and I was in the neighborhood.” He glanced at Koujaku curiously. “Why aren’t you with the Beni-Shigure guys?”

The _‘You shouldn’t be here’_ was heard loud and clear and it was a physical struggle not to jump up and shake Aoba, to demand to know what he was hiding.

Koujaku shrugged with forced casualness. “Didn’t feel like it. Besides, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Aoba immediately broke eyes contact as he said that. “Yeah, I know, it’s like everybody suddenly wants to see me,” he said, with a helpless shrug.

The air between them was strained as Koujaku watched him fidget and Aoba tried to make avoiding his eyes seem casual. He hiked the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder.

“Well, I should be go—”

“I miss you,” Koujaku blurted.

Wow, that was so lame. He wanted to bang his head against a wall for saying something so needy. He sounded like some lonely housewife who knew their husband had a mistress. But he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth; he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing Aoba.

Aoba started, and his hand fell from his bag. Then his eyes finally looked at Koujaku and they softened. He closed the distance between them and leaned over Koujaku, propping one knee on the cushion beside his leg and placing his hand on Koujaku’s cheek. He smiled and it took Koujaku’s breath away.

“I miss you, too,” Aoba said quietly. He pressed his lips to Koujaku’s and Koujaku was powerless to resist, raising his hand to Aoba’s neck and lightly running his hands through the hair at his nape. Aoba shivered at the touch and broke the kiss. For a moment he simply looked down at Koujaku, biting his lip, before he gave him a small smile. It ached to see because Koujaku could see how tense he was, that it wasn’t his true one.

“I love you, you hippo,” Aoba told him, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Simple, familiar words, but there was no denying the honesty he saw in Aoba’s eyes and he felt some of his anxiety releasing its vice grip on his heart. He still wanted Aoba to talk to him, but...if Aoba didn’t want to tell him, then there was no point in questioning him, trying to guilt him into it. They simply weren’t that kind of couple.

“I love you, too, Aoba,” Koujaku said seriously, looking straight into Aoba’s eyes. Aoba colored and looked away, a frown tugging on his features. Koujaku doubted he even knew he was doing it, but he’d grown up with Aoba and could tell when something was troubling him.

Aoba leaned up and kissed Koujaku once more on the forehead before straightening.

“I’ll see you later,” Aoba promised.

“See you later,” Koujaku echoed somewhat sadly. He watched Aoba walk away and only when he heard the door shut did he allow himself to sag back against the couch, staring at the ceiling morosely.

He felt simultaneously better and worse. He’d come _this_ close to mentioning his visit to Tae-san’s but he’d held back. He didn’t like these secrets between them, the awkward space it forced them across. After a week of worry to only have some of his doubts realized was not how he’d envisioned to spend his weekend.

Koujaku glanced at his coil and could have wept at the hour; he had work tomorrow and he was already off to a bad start.

Koujaku went to his bedroom and knew he should get some rest. Instead, rather than get under the covers, he pulled out his cigarettes and lighter and sat at the head of his bed, opening his window.

He needed a smoke.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad for the people who see I've uploaded a new fic, and then see it's not Tokyo Ghoul. Sorry everybody! I am writing more hidekane, don't worry. 
> 
> Well, this story has been sitting around on my computer for ages, and I finally decided to post the first part of it, just to see how well it's received. If you like, take to the time to let me know! It's gives me the boost I need to keep posting and I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. New Player

“He’s definitely going to break up with me,” Aoba said gloomily as he walked away from Koujaku’s apartment.

Ren poked his head out of Aoba’s duffel bag. “Due to Koujaku’s depth of love and admiration where you are concerned, that would be highly unlikely.”

“He knows I’m lying to him,” Aoba pointed out, although Ren’s words made him feel a bit better.

“You are not a convincing liar,” Ren agreed. Aoba might have been irritated by the comment had it come from anyone else, but coming from Ren he could only sigh.

He’d been _so_ lucky he’d heard Koujaku’s knock. If he hadn’t and Koujaku had seen the wounds he’d been wrapping, the bandages that covered his arms, legs, that wrapped around his chest—no, there was no way Koujaku wouldn’t have gone on a murderous rampage.

The only thing that had kept him from spilling the beans was the fact that he was doing all this to keep him _safe_. Koujaku wasn’t the type to need protection, usually, but these were special circumstances.

“I’m a terrible boyfriend.”

There was a pause, then, “I believe that once you explain the situation to Koujaku, he will be understanding.”

“I hope so.” Ren had suggested once that Aoba tell Koujaku before he tried to handle it by himself, but he wouldn’t hear it. He refused to risk Koujaku getting hurt, or worse, doing something stupid, like getting his rib team involved and starting a huge gang war. This had nothing to do with his boyfriend; Aoba’s problem, Aoba’s responsibility.

“Where will you stay tonight?”

Midorijima didn’t exactly have a surplus of hotels, and even with the new renovations and lack of psycho, mind-control-obsessed corporations, Platinum Jail was too out of the way and completely out of budget.

“I’m not sure,” Aoba confessed, frowning. “Maybe the one on the West side again?”

Ren took a moment to process a route. “Take your immediate left in three blocks.”

“Thanks, Ren.”

All the back and forth was Aoba’s least favorite part about the entire thing, having to trek for over an hour just to find a place to rest on top of the aches and bruises he had to deal with. But it was still a better alternative to being tracked back down to Koujaku’s or Granny’s place.

Twenty minutes into his journey the large bruise on his back began to twinge in pain, a memento from one of the Rhyme punks who’d jumped him from behind _(the fucker)._ Aoba had gifted him a particularly brutal roundhouse in return.

He adjusted his strap again, trying to ignore the pain as he entered the ever-lit streets of the South-side part of the Old Resident District. Here, he was most in danger.

“There is a shortcut through an upcoming side-street that will save you seven minutes of walking. Is this route acceptable?”

Seven minutes less sounded like paradise. “Definitely.”

It was nearly dawn, and Aoba had hardly seen a single soul since he’d left Koujaku’s apartment. The atmosphere was quiet and peaceful, which was why the drive-by caught him completely by surprise.

A wave of nausea hit him as his surrounding twisted and bled away, but at this point he was used to it and pushed back the urge to vomit.

For a second he was surrounded by disturbing, unending blackness, but then the sensation of wind rushed by him and his surroundings sprang into existence—giant neon red blocks floating over large spikes, a dome made of a red, glowing grid stretching far over his head. Drive-by battles usually took on the look and personality of their creator, and this one seemed particularly volatile.

“Ren! Defense!”

“Understood.”

Ren raised his arms, a wide blue shield stretching before them, just as a wave of twisting, malicious fire collided with it. Aoba had learned the hard way that his opponents would usually opt to attack first, hoping to catch him unawares.

“Bastard!” The Rhymer who faced him looked livid, his Avatar allmate still in attacking position. “Don’t think you can get away!”

Aoba’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile, letting the guilt wash over him.

“Who’s running?”

Ren gave him a sharp look through his visor and Aoba pressed his lips into a thin line.

Yeah, he’d heard it too. His voice had come out sounding like a weird blend of his own and someone else’s, reverberating with power. He knew it was _him_ , but he simply couldn’t be contained at moments like these, and Aoba had stopped trying awhile ago. He just had to rein him in, make sure he didn’t go too far.

When Aoba spoke, his voice came out as his own, but he could do nothing against the gold glow of his eyes. He met the hatred in his opponent's gaze and felt a complicated mixture of sadness and ecstasy.

“Ren! JUBILATION Set!”

“Understood.”

The punk got some good hits in, but Aoba was out to make the battle as quick as possible, and he only felt tired when his opponent gave his last cry and the Rhyme field around them shattered and dissipated.

Aoba cracked open his eyes and was unsurprised to find himself collapsed in the alley, the entire front-half of his body aching from the fall.

“Aoba!” He heard the sound of Ren’s paws clicking against the concrete and raised himself up.

Or, at least he _tried_ to. The moment he tried to push himself up his arms immediately buckled and he fell back down, head cracking painfully against the ground.

 _“Ow,”_ Aoba hissed. His vision was blurry and his earlier nausea returned with an intense strength.

He felt Ren’s front paws on his cheeks, an attempt to rouse him. “Aoba, remaining here would be unwise. The chances of another drive-by within twenty minutes is over seventy-nine percent.”

Aoba had to swallow several times before he could manage to speak. His blurry vision was persistently present and he could only make out a dark blur where Ren was.

“Don’t think . . . I can move . . . ” Aoba was suddenly feeling every drive-by he’d endured that day. Had this been the third time, or the fourth?

“Aoba, I am detecting a familiar all mate presence nearby. I am requesting assistance.”

“That’s . . . good,” Aoba whispered. The words barely registered. He only hoped that it wasn’t Koujaku. This would be the worst possible scenario for him to find out about Aoba’s activities.

Breathing shallowly, Aoba tried to fight off the darkness that was trying to creep in on the edges of his vision. But it was _hard_. He was so tired, more tired than he could ever remember being, and sleep sounded _so_ nice. . . 

Ren rose from his perch tucked beneath Aoba’s chin at the sound of slow footsteps and Aoba worried for him even as his eyes closed.

He heard someone click their teeth in annoyance.

“What the hell?”

Aoba passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know; not only is this chapter shitty, but it's short to boot! My only defense is that I'm working a lot, and I'm pretty busy when I have free time as well. I'm going to try my hardest to complete this story, but because of my schedule updates will be erratic. Like, this update was a miracle, seriously. 
> 
> Want more? Leave a comment and let me know!


	3. Liar, Liar

The first thing Aoba did when he woke up was realize he had about five seconds to get to the nearest bathroom.

Eyes wide, he shot up and tossed the blanket— _blanket?_ —off of him and nearly crashed to the floor. He stood on shaky legs and his panicked eyes took in the unfamiliar apartment long enough to see a hallway that _had_ to lead to a bathroom, and he was off. The first door blessedly led to one and he collapsed over the toilet, heaving what felt like his own stomach.

His eyes watered as the acid burned his already dry throat and tears pricked his vision. His head throbbed with each hurl and his hands shook where he clutched the porcelain.

Dimly he heard footsteps approach, but when nothing else happened, no knife in his back or a punch to his face, he decided to deal with it later.

He didn’t even know _why_ he felt so awful. It couldn’t be something he’d ate; he’d hardly had time for a meal all week and when he had eaten, it had been fast food, food that he’d had since he was a child without a single bout of sickness.

It could be stress, but he hadn’t been like this since Platinum Jail. And that had only been because of the drugs. Other than that, he hadn’t been sick a day in his life.

When he felt that he was done hacking up his entire digestive track, Aoba sagged and pressed his forehead against the cool rim of the toilet, exhausted.

“Aoba, how are you feeling?” Ren asked, paws pressed to his thigh.

Aoba moaned miserably in response.

“That was pretty impressive.”

Aoba’s eyes flew open and his head snapped to the side. He immediately regretted the motion the second he did it; the dizzy spell was less than helpful. He pressed his flushed skin back against the toilet, focused on smoothing out his harsh breathing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone run so fast,” Noiz continued from the doorway.

“Well, you know me,” Aoba said breathlessly, not daring to move again for the foreseeable ever. He swallowed, grimacing at the taste in his mouth. “Always trying to impress.”

Noiz said nothing, but Aoba hadn’t expected him to. He wanted to ask where he was, why _Noiz_ was even here, but it was beyond him at the moment.

“Aoba, I have researched your symptoms and have concluded that your extreme flux in health is the result of excessive drive-by attacks draining both your physical and mental strength.”

“Of course,” Aoba huffed. “How long should I wait before the next one?” he asked grimly. He was sure he could find some alley to lie low in for the next hour or two.

“Next one?” Noiz cut in.

Aoba glanced up at the interruption. Other than a slight furrow of the brow, a narrowing of the eyes, Noiz looked much as he always did, but even those minor tells were enough for Aoba to tell he was irritated, maybe even worried.

“Uh, yeah,” Aoba said, looking away. He groaned as he straightened and pulled Ren into his lap. “I’m pretty popular these days; I’m surprised you didn’t know…”

And he meant it. Noiz had been more than vocal about his desire to Rhyme with Aoba before and during the Platinum Jail incident, and he figured with what seemed like every Rhymer on the island after him, it would only be a matter of time before he turned around and was met with that ridiculous rabbit head.

Aoba shakily rose to his feet and when he didn’t immediately collapse, he counted it as a win. He tried to slip past Noiz, but Noiz barred the way with his arm, his green eyes watching Aoba with shrewd precision.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Alarmed, Aoba met Noiz’s eyes and then looked away quickly, remembering that he was a shit liar.

“No,” Aoba assured, “I just, uh, ran into some punk, that’s all.”

Before Noiz could reply, Aoba ducked underneath his arm.

“It’s no big deal,” Aoba started to call over his shoulder, but then Noiz grabbed his upper arm and halted his retreat, looking irritated.

“It really pisses me off when people lie to my face.”

Well, shit. Aoba hung his head, shifting uneasily.

“I’m not lying,” Aoba mumbled, eyes on his shoes.

The grip on his arm tightened and Aoba’s lip thinned, suppressing the urge to flinch. He glared into green eyes.

“Let go of me,” he commanded, annoyed.

“I will,” Noiz agreed easily. “As soon as you tell me the truth.”

“Noiz, I’m _serious,”_ Aoba tried to jerk his arm free but the grip held firm. Exasperated as much as he was frustrated, Aoba rolled his eyes and gave one last fruitless tug before trying to appeal to his...friend? “It’s nothing, _really._ I can handle it.”

Noiz’s brow arched. “So passing out in alleys and throwing up is you ‘handling it’?”

Aoba’s mouth opened, but no ready excuse came, especially in the face of Noiz’s doubt. He snapped his mouth shut and looked to the floor, shoulders sagging.

“That was...bad timing. It’s not usually like that.”

“Like what?”

Why couldn’t he keep his mouth _shut?_ He bit his lip, hoping it would keep the flow of words from spilling from his mouth. When the silence drew out too long, Noiz gave his arm a little insistent shake.

_“Aoba._ Like what?”

To Aoba’s continued frustration, Noiz knelt just a bit and lowered his face right in his line of vision. He looked away immediately, but it wasn’t fast enough to miss the honest-to-goodness _concern_ in Noiz’s usually stoic features. He could see it in the way the corners of Noiz’s mouth twitched downward, the narrowing of his eyes and the little wrinkled between his brows.

Aoba could feel himself losing the battle.

Another long, drug out silence stretched, where Aoba’s hands slowly became tightly clenched fists and he waged a silent war within himself.

He _couldn’t_ tell Noiz!...Right? Sure, he did wish he had someone to talk to about it, maybe come up with a solution to what was appearing to be a never-ending problem, but this was purely the result of Aoba’s old, selfish ways. He _deserved_ to deal with the consequences, and he deserved to deal with them _alone._

But at the same time, the siren call of a shoulder to lean on, even one as stiff and standoffish as Noiz’s, was beyond tempting. Ren kept the loneliness at bay, but not the self-hatred. Bitter thoughts consumed him more often than not and every time he was confronted with the consequences of his past negligence, he felt as if...as if…

“I’m going crazy,” Aoba whispered, his voice a broken thread of sound. The words left him without consent, but a bit of the weight over his shoulders lifted and he sagged to the ground.

Or, at least, would have, if Noiz hadn’t caught him. Firm, bandaged hands caught him under the arms and he pulled one of Aoba’s arms over his shoulders, half-pulling, half-dragging him into the small living room.

With almost insulting ease, Noiz moved Aoba to the couch he had slept on and settled him there. As soon as he was sitting Aoba rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands, for some reason suddenly having to hold back tears.

God, he was so pathetic.

Luckily, Noiz was either feeling unusually patient, or he simply knew he’d won, because he didn’t try to talk to him while Aoba forced himself to calm down. He took deep breaths but only felt real calm returning when he felt the cushion nest to him bounce slightly, then Ren’s tiny paws climbing into his lap.

A shuddering breath left him and he separated his hands just wide enough to take in Ren’s eyes, quietly watching him.

“Aoba, are you okay?” Ren asked, his computerized voice somehow sounding worried. A ghost of a smile flitted across Aoba’s pale features.

“Yeah,” he said, petting Ren’s head. To his amusement, his tail wagged and he brought his paws to Aoba’s chest. Aoba needed no further invitation and rested his forehead against the puppy’s for a blissful moment, feeling a bit more in control of himself.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

Raising his head resolutely, he met Noiz’s eyes firmly from his perch just on the ground before the couch, looking all for the world like he was bored, if not for the way he gave Aoba his full attention.

Despite their strange relationship, Noiz was still a friend. At least to Aoba, anyways. He could trust him.

Aoba opened his mouth, and talked.

He told Noiz everything that had happened in the past week, from the initial threats to the drive-by’s that plagued at all hours, no matter where he was. He had to explain a little of his past, that much was a given, but he glossed over it as much as possible. A lot of it was fuzzy, only better remembered when a spectre of the past confronted him, but he didn’t spend much time describing it mainly because he was ashamed of how... _selfish_ he had been.

When he finally drew to a close he looked at Noiz nervously. He hadn’t said a word since Aoba started explaining and listened without a word, his eyes only narrowing occasionally.

Noiz seemed to absorb everything he’d heard for a moment, then he stood and walked to the far side of the room, where several computers and keyboards were splayed on the carpet.

Aoba watched as he kneeled, typed a bit, then reached to his side and detached one of those weird bunny cubes from his belt. He murmured something to it that Aoba couldn’t catch no matter how hard he strained, and then the green cube hopped out of Noiz’s hand and out of the front door via a small doggy door.

Confused, Aoba swallowed anxiously as Noiz faced him.

“Where’s the old man?” Noiz asked.

Aoba blinked. All that, and he wanted to know about Koujaku? Did he...know they were together? They didn’t try to hide it, but they didn’t flaunt it either. Aoba couldn’t stop himself from eyeing Noiz warily.

“...Why?”

Noiz shrugged. “He’s got that,” he waved his hand vaguely, “hero complex. And you guys are friends. Figured he’d be all over this with that weak-ass Rib team of his.”

Oh. That made sense. Aoba broke eye contact and shifted uncomfortably.

“I...haven’t told him. I don’t want him making my problems his. He has enough to worry about.”

“Hm,” Noiz sounded unconvinced. “Don’t know why not. Seems like the easier solution than trying to do it by yourself.”

“No,” Aoba said firmly. “I don’t want him involved.”

Noiz’s eyes flickered up and Aoba’s breath caught at the intense look leveled at him.

“Is that really the reason?”

Aoba had to remind his heart to beat. He felt as if Noiz was staring straight through him, judging him...and finding him lacking. Aoba straightened, hardening his gaze.

“It is.”

“Hm.”

Noiz looked away dismissively and he looked so like his usual self again, aloof and self-contained, that weirdly intense gleam gone from his eyes, that Aoba could almost convince himself he’d imagined it. He _had_ been out of sorts for a while.

Noiz rose leisurely and walked to where an old-school receiver phone was attached to the wall that separated the little kitchen from the living room. He picked it up and typed in a number, and as it rang, Aoba asked:

“What are you doing?”

“First, I’m ordering pizza,” Noiz explained, idly toying with the coiled cord, “You need to eat something and I’m starving.”

Aoba tilted his head slightly.

“What comes second?”

Noiz glanced over and there was no other way to describe his expression other than blood-thirsty.

“We go out and kick some Rhymer-ass.”

 


	4. Game Plan

Koujaku was in a bad mood. He liked to think of himself as a generally happy, easy-going person, but almost from the moment he’d woken up, he couldn’t shake the irritable, melancholy state of mind he’d found himself in.

And despite his resolve of the night before, to give his boyfriend his space and just make his peace with the situation, he’d woken up, sun warming his skin, and had turned ever-so-slightly, reaching out just a bit and grasped...nothing. Empty air, and an empty space where Aoba usually was.

That was when their awkward encounter and bittersweet kiss came rushing back, along with the knowledge of Aoba’s deception, and his mood had plummeted. Resentful and hurt in one moment, forlorn and miserable at others.

He canceled all his hair appointments for the day and after spending nearly an hour smiling winningly and ensuring he still had loyal clients, he wrote off the rest of his day. He didn’t feel up to pretending everything was fine, and he certainly didn’t feel like blindly ignoring Aoba’s actions and waiting patiently.

Filled with restless energy but unwilling to drink himself into another stupor and lose face in front of Mizuki, Koujaku settled for clearing space in his living room and moving through some basic katas with his sword.

As the katas moved up in difficulty, he found his mind unerringly returning to the root of his problems.

Why hadn’t he demanded more answers? Why hadn’t he just tackled Aoba like he would when they were kids and refuse to let him up until he told the truth?

A hot ball of anger ignited in Koujaku’s breast and grew with each beat of his heart. His strikes became swifter, laced with frustration.

Why was Aoba keeping secrets from him in the first place? Had Koujaku proved himself unworthy in some way? Hurt or angered Aoba in some way? Didn’t Aoba know Koujaku would throw himself at his feet and beg for forgiveness if that were the case? Didn’t he know that Koujaku loved him beyond reproach?

Why would he lie about his whereabouts? Where was Aoba sleeping at night, if not at home or Tae’s? Was he in some kind of trouble? If not, why not tell Koujaku?

Why? Why? Why? All his thoughts, all of his doubts and worries and concerns could all be whittled down to that one question, and the not-knowing felt as if it was eating him alive.

Giving a frustrated cry, Koujaku abruptly interrupted his flow of movements to spin and throw his blade across the room, where it imbedded deeply in the wall.

Chest heaving Koujaku stared at it for a long moment. Regret was already beginning to creep in, but despite the childish display, a deeper part of him felt better just from having hit something, even if it was a wall.

Then, to his utter surprise, someone began clapping furiously, just behind him.

Heart leaping to his throat and hand going for a sword that was sticking out of a wall instead of holstered on his back, Koujaku spun around.

“I always knew Koujaku-san must have some skill from having such an impressive sword, but I had no idea how great!”

Bewildered, Koujaku took in no other than the gas-mask freak—Clue? Cloud? No, Clear, right?—sitting cross-legged and still clapping on the living room floor as if his presence was a perfectly natural thing.

Reality finally caught up with him and Koujaku straightened, indignation flaring suddenly.

“What the hell are you doing in my house? How did you get in here?” Memories of Tae’s kidnapping came to the surface of his mind and he immediately changed directions in the same breath. “Have you seen Aoba?”

Gas-Mask—no, _Clear’s_ —head tilted in confusion.

“Shouldn’t you know, given the nature of your relationship?”

Defensive anger flared, only to be chased out immediately by shock.

“Nature—what are you talking about?”

Clear’s head tilted even more. “The fact that Koujaku and Master are lovers, of course.”

Going crimson, Koujaku managed, “How—how do you even _know_ that?” They weren’t ashamed of their love, by any means, but they didn’t exactly flaunt it, either. Was this freak spying on them of something?

“Elevated heart rate is present in both of you during moments of eye contact and close proximity,” Clear said straightaway, holding up his gloved fingers one at a time. “The tendency for Master to blush has increased by thirty-seven percent when in your presence and there have been exactly twenty-four occasions in which Koujaku and Master have attended an event only to leave within exactly four minutes of one another. When I went to Tae-san’s house to visit Master she informed me he had moved out, and it is quite clear that Master lives _here,_ with you, which is a milestone many couples take after having progressed to the physical aspect of an evolving relationship, also—”

Clear was cut off by Koujaku suddenly slamming his palm over the mouth of his mask in an effort to stop the flood of extremely embarrassing facts.

“Okay, enough!”  

Jeez, did this guy have any shame?

Clear began speaking again, gesturing wildly with his hands, but the pressure of Koujaku’s hands on his mask made the words come out distorted and unintelligible.

Against his better judgement, Koujaku lowered his hands, eyeing Clear dubiously.

“What was that?”

“I said, if Koujaku-san doesn’t know where Master is, he should find him!”

Koujaku gave Clear a dry, unamused look.

“That’s easier said than done, you know. He’s not at Tae’s and he hasn’t been by Mizuki’s bar or his job, so my options here are kind of limited.”

“No problem!” Clear said confidently. “Master has been frequenting the south district.”

“The south?” That place was crawling with gangs—Rib, Rhyme, and otherwise. Koujaku’s unease grew. “How do you know that?”

“It’s my job to protect Master. Master wanted me to keep my distance, but I shadow him when he goes to dangerous places.”

Koujaku wasn’t exactly happy with this information, but he could begrudgingly admit that knowing someone was watching out for Aoba, even if it was some gas-wearing weirdo, was relieving.

Koujaku sighed and decided that he’d worry about this potential stalker later. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, frowning.

“What could he be doing there?”

“Fighting in Rhyme.”

Koujaku started and nearly fell to the ground. _“What?”_

“Yes!” Clear shook his head vigorously, clearly pleased. Maybe even proud. “Master has won every one of the nineteen battles he’s entered. Master has sounded much more like himself lately.”

_Nineteen?_ “You’re saying Aoba’s—fighting? In _Rhyme?_ Are you being serious? You’re not messing with me?”

“Negative. Master is most definitely participating in Rhyme.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Koujaku threw his hands in the air and began to pace, agitation clear in every line of his body. “Aoba doesn’t even _like_ Rhyme!”

“That is true,” Clear said agreeably, tapping his chin as if in thought, “Master has never willingly started a Rhyme battle.”

That stopped Koujaku in his tracks. “What are you saying? You just said he fought _nineteen times._ Are you saying he was...he was forced?”

Clear nodded. “Master has been forcibly engaged in many Drive-by Rhyme attacks.”

“Drive-by’s…”

The pieces were finally starting to come together, even if each piece completely baffled Koujaku.

So. Aoba was Rhyming... _okay._ And apparently he was being forced somehow? It didn’t make much sense to Koujaku, but he vastly preferred it to the alternative that Aoba was cheating on him or had gotten tired of Koujaku.

But thinking about it only drove him in circles. Why was Aoba Rhyming? Why was he keeping himself in a situation where it could only continue? Why was he keeping it a secret from Koujaku?

Why? Why? Why?

Koujaku growled under his breath. Back to this, _again._ He felt as if he had more questions than answers, and if he stayed here wondering he would go crazy.

No. There was only one thing to do.

“You said you know where Aoba usually is, right?”

“Yes! Not where he sleeps, of course, because Master values his privacy, but I know where he usually fights.” Clear leaned towards Koujaku and, despite the fact that he was sitting on the ground and Koujaku was standing, Koujaku still leaned a bit away, uneasy.

“Do you want to accompany me to find Master?”

“...Yeah. I do.”

Koujaku glanced over the mask, the gloves, the over-large lab coat, and tried to ignore his misgivings about following such a shady character around an even shadier part of Midorijima.  


He still had a bad feeling about this.


End file.
